mysterious bruise.

I found a bruise on my thigh this morning, a vaguely purple area barely visible in my pale fleshiness (or was it my fleshy paleness)? I poked it, which was dumb, because it hurt and what did I expect? I suppose that's what I was trying to find out. If it was still tender, that might tell me how long it's been there, which might help me remember how I got it. I had a sudden recollection, but it had nothing to do with whatever harm came to the blood vessels in my thigh.

Instead, I remembered sitting across the table from my sister Rita as she asked me "Do you get a lot of bruises that you don't know how you got?"

And I remembered saying, "No," because I didn't think I did. This was after I showed her a still-healing burn on my forearm. I had a run-in with the oven. She showed me a red area on the exact same place on her arm. Her oven is mean, too. Maybe I do get a lot of mysterious bruises. How many is a lot?

I didn't used to think I was a klutz, but maybe it's true. Everyone has their clumsy moments, right? Is that just what cretins like me tell ourselves? I don't know how to compare my experiences to anyone else's without living in their body for a while. Are there people who never ever burn their forearms on their oven doors? What are they doing differently? Being clumsy seems to be a lack of noticing, a certain obliviousness to your surroundings or to physics, so maybe it's the opposite. Maybe they never burn their forearms on the oven because they take particular care when they are pulling the tray of rolls out. Or maybe it's seamless and subconscious, like noticing a change in temperature. They can tell when to lower their arm because they can sense the oven wall is too close. Where are my oven wall sensors?

Maybe it's not me at all. Surely everyone burns themself on the oven every once in a while. I never noticed that I had a lot of accidents. I'm still not sure that I do. How many is a lot?